


The Courting Habits of Killers

by Nera_Solani



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 02, Dark Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Manipulative Will Graham, Murder, Murder Courtship, Serial Killer Will Graham, Smitten Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is a Cannibal, Will Graham is a Tease, because I don't actually know yet who is gonna feature in this, tags and characters will be added as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-10-14 04:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nera_Solani/pseuds/Nera_Solani
Summary: The thing that no one knows about Will Graham, that even Hannibal had failed to see behind the fog of fever that had clouded Will’s mind, is, Will doesn’t simply empathize with killers, he is one of them. Wholly and completely. Entirely of his own volition. Will has never been the unstable, awkward teacher he presents the world to be. He wouldn’t dare calling himself sane, that would take it a step too far, but he is comfortable in his skin and in the minds of the killers he analyzes.





	1. Prisoner's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I normally don't post WIPs, but for a particular reason, I'll give it a try this time. Don't expect regular updates, I am a slow writer and don't have anything resembling a schedule, so be warned. I will, however, do everything in my might to finish this fic, as I have finished every other.  
> Disclaimer: I'm working closely with the scripts of the show, so you'll find quite the portion of canon dialogue in this fic, which I obviously do not own.  
> However, if you're worried it will be boring, I changed all of those scenes to shift the mood, set them in a different context or change their meaning entirely, so I sure hope it isn't boring xD
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy!

Grey stone walls. That’s all Will has been seeing in the past couple weeks. It’s terribly dull, but at least his mind is clear enough now to even realize dullness in the first place. The persistent personality residue of Garett Jacob Hobbs has vacated his mind together with the encephalitis and he is finally alone with his thoughts again. Well, as much as he can be anyway, with Chilton rubbing around his legs like a hungry cat. An ugly cat at that. Will barely endures their appointments by wading into the quiet of his stream. Abigail isn’t there anymore. Instead it’s a wendigo standing by his side in the water. Will doesn’t mind. But he can’t stay in his own mind forever and frankly, he is bored beyond all reason.

Playing with Chilton had been fun for a while, but even that doesn’t tickle his fancy anymore. No, he misses the company of a very specific psychiatrist. A sharp mind, that never backs down when challenged to a game of wits. A kindred spirit. And oh, Will hadn’t known just how kindred until he was entirely cured of his encephalitis and therefore able to piece together the puzzle that was Hannibal Lecter. If only the good doctor hadn’t kept that sickness a secret Will would’ve known so much earlier, would’ve seen past the facade of the man to find the beautiful monster lurking beneath. He would’ve been able to see. And perhaps even reciprocate.

The thing that no one knows about Will Graham, that even Hannibal had failed to see behind the fog of fever that had clouded Will’s mind, is, Will doesn’t simply empathize with killers, he is one of them. Wholly and completely. Entirely of his own volition. Will has never been the unstable, awkward teacher he presents the world to be. He wouldn’t dare calling himself sane, that would take it a step too far, but he is comfortable in his skin and in the minds of the killers he analyzes. They even come in handy, really. With his so called “pure empathy” he can dive deeper into the psyche of any killer than the best trained profilers the FBI has to offer and he learned to use that to his advantage when he accepted his… inclinations. When a serial killer with a body count in the double digits gets arrested, nobody cares if he denies killing one particular victim as long as the MO fits. And Will makes it fit _perfectly_. He’s not a copycat, no that doesn’t cover it. He doesn’t simply copy the work of another, he absorbs it and reproduces it immaculately. He doesn’t do it out of admiration either, it’s simply a matter of convenience and the desire not to get caught. All his kills so far have been attributed to another. Obviously not always the same, it was just here a victim more and there one more… nothing to raise suspicion that there might be another killer in the game. He’s hiding in plain sight, as one might say. Hannibal does the same, if in a quite different fashion. Will almost resents sending Matthew Brown to kill the good doctor. He’s so used to hiding who he really is that the prospect of such a kindred soul that he needn’t hide from now calls to him like a siren’s song. Of course he’s come across countless killers over the years, but the desire for a possible partnership is altogether new. There’s something about Hannibal that’s just… different. There’s a connection between them that Will can’t name, a mutual desire to understand and be understood. Will has never considered another killer worthy of his friendship before, and yet…

Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, and Will couldn’t be happier about that. He is obviously still mad about having his brain cooked inside his skull, but he understands now what Dr. Lecter had tried to do. Not knowing what Will was, Hannibal had tried to help him become. Just that he is about ten years late for that. The absurdity of the whole situation almost makes Will burst into laughter. Fucking _perfect_. The only thing that could make this even better, would be if Will wasn’t still locked up in Chilton’s facility of utter boredom. Will is itching for a kill, hasn’t been able to make one since his sickness induced sleeping problems had started. Maybe the encephalitis is the reason why Hannibal hadn’t noticed Will’s very own monster, he had hardly been himself under the influence of brain melting illness. But now he is back to his old self and he is curious to see if Hannibal will notice the change. Before he can even attempt to invite Hannibal to be his playmate though, Will has to get out of here somehow.

~◊~

Will was brought to the visiting cells. There’s a small number of people who might want to see him nowadays. It can’t be Chilton, their therapy session is scheduled for a later time of day and Will hasn’t lost all sense of time just yet. It could be Hannibal, but Will knows the man and he’s still playing hurt at having almost been killed, he would wait a bit longer to approach Will again. That leaves Alana or Jack. Will can’t hear the clicking of high heels approaching, so he’d put his money on Jack. When the man actually enters, somber and slow, Will stands up inside the tiny cage.

“You're moving smoothly and slowly, Jack, carrying your concentration like a brimming cup,” Will says as Jack comes to stand in front of him, head held high and face grim as ever.

“Hannibal Lecter was almost murdered by an employee of this hospital. An attendant we believe killed the bailiff and judge in your trial.”

“He killed the bailiff. He didn’t kill the judge. That was the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“You know this?” Jack inquires.

“He told me.”

“And then you told him to kill Hannibal Lecter.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Nothing I said made that happen, Jack. It just happened.” It’s a blatant lie, but definitely not the first one Will has told right to Jack’s face.

“Don't seem too broken up about it.” It’s close enough to an accusation and Will pauses. Sending Brown to kill Hannibal had been a bit impulsive, he can admit that. He’d still been mad about the encephalitis and being framed for murder and also about Beverly. What if Brown had succeeded though? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want Hannibal dead. The man is just too interesting. A worthy companion for his own demon. He’d be no fun dead. Neither would he be much fun imprisoned. Well, it would be a hilarious way of exacting revenge, but getting him back out of jail would be a pain.

Will chooses his words carefully, “You said he was _almost_ murdered. Which means he’s still alive. No reason to be broken up about something that was averted, is there?”

Jack gives him a long stare that almost screams that he isn’t buying it. Not yet.

“You still think Hannibal is the Ripper. Are you planning to kill him?”

“No.” It’s not a lie.

“No?”

“I want the Ripper behind bars. I want to stop him and what he does.” Well, that is a lie. But what Jack doesn’t know… right?

“What does he do, Will?” _Silly question._

Will almost rolls his eyes but looks up at the ceiling instead, takes a purposefully shaky breath. “What does he do? What is the first and principal thing he does? What _need_ does he serve by killing?”

“He harvests organs.”

Oh Jack, still not seeing the bigger picture. Will shakes his head jerkily. “No. That's only the action of what he does. Why does he _need_ to do it?” A small pause for the dramatic effect and Will continues, “The Ripper kills in sounders of three or four, in quick order. Do you know why? I know why.”

“Tell me.”

Now Will looks at him again, but only briefly. “Because if he waits too long, then the meat spoils.”

“He's eating them? Hannibal Lecter is Garret Jacob Hobbs? A cannibal?”

“Not like Garret Jacob Hobbs. Hobbs ate his victims to honor them. The Ripper eats his victims because they're no better to him than _pigs_.” The idea of Hannibal being the Ripper has already been instilled in Jack, Will has to be careful to pull it out by the roots again. It has to be believable. He fidgets a little to remind Jack of the Will he knows. “And when, if you could remind me, have I proclaimed Hannibal to be the Ripper since you’re here?”

That catches Jack off guard and he just blinks at Will for a moment. “Are you saying you changed your mind?”

Will sighs. “With the exception of Beverly Katz, there's no connection between Hannibal and any Ripper victims. I’ve had a lot of time to think about the Ripper in here, Jack. And also about Hannibal. The profile might fit, but it probably fits about 30% of the Baltimore high society. I admit I might’ve been a bit… hasty in accusing Hannibal, but I was framed for murder and diagnosed with severe encephalitis. Things like that mess with ones judgement.” Will says it with as much remorse as he can muster and he can almost see Jack swallowing the bait.

“So just to be clear… what you’re saying is,” Jack speaks slowly, almost as though he is waiting for Will to change his mind again, "Hannibal Lecter is not the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will only gives a tight little nod, “For the record, that doesn’t change anything about the fact that I’m innocent as well.”

Jack nods, “Yeah, sure.” It’s hard to tell whether he’s actually serious.

Then he says his goodbye and turns to leave, but before he can take a step, Will calls after him in a small voice, “Would you be so kind as to tell Hannibal my apologies? I’d hate for our friendship to break apart due to a sickness induced meltdown on my part.” He allows his voice to crack a little at the end, just to make it a little more convincing, but Jack already bought it anyway.

The agent doesn’t turn back around but he nods once and says, “Of course, I will.” Then he leaves, not seeing the smile that creeps onto Will’s face.

~◊~

Will lies on his bunk, thinking. He wants to talk to Hannibal, wants him to see. Hopefully his “apology” makes Hannibal understand. At least somewhat. Enough to get him to prove Will innocent soon, so he hopes. He doesn’t have to actually mean an apology for it to serve its purpose. This cell with the only company being Abel Gideon on the other side of the wall is really getting old now. Speaking of Gideon, he would have to suffice as Will’s only source of entertainment now. Besides Chilton, but that man hardly counts as he’s basically a joke on two legs. Probably a bad knock-knock joke too.

“You could’ve let him die.” Will says into the quiet of his cell.

On the other side of the wall he hears Gideon shift, “Woulda. Shoulda. Coulda.”

“He's going to kill you, you know.”

“Can't get me in here.” Comes the answer.

Will almost laughs at the man’s naivety, “Here is exactly where he'll get you, Abel. The moment I convinced the chief of staff to put you in a cell next to me, you were stamped with an expiration date. Anyone who gets too close, gets got. Miriam Lass. Abigail Hobbs. Beverly Katz. He's the Devil, remember. Smoke.” He turns his head up to the ceiling and — because he knows Chilton is listening in, he always does — adds, “I'd be very nervous if I were Dr. Chilton. He's getting close, too.”

He can almost _see_ Chilton’s face in his head. He wouldn’t leave Hannibal the pleasure of killing that cockroach though, no he’d rather do it himself, given the chance.

“Frederick's in mortal danger and you want an apology from me?”

_Oh Abel._

“I don't want an apology. I want you to know you made a mistake. There’s no way you’re gonna get out of this alive except the Chesapeake Ripper miraculously gets caught and it certainly doesn’t look that way.”

“Why did you suddenly change your mind about Dr. Lecter? Is it a trick? Or did he brainwash you?” Gideon wonders aloud.

“I know Hannibal as intimately as I know the Ripper. I see them both. If they were the same person, I would know it.”

“You tried to kill him, that seemed pretty damn sure to me.”

“I did no such thing,” Will replies slowly, coolly.

“Of course not. But you wanted him dead.”

Will shrugs, even though he knows Abel can’t see him, “I changed my mind. I’d rather have him as a friend than as a corpse.”

The moment of silence that follows betrays the fact that Gideon understands the half truths Will is telling him. That he knows who Hannibal is and that he no longer wants to kill him regardless. What Gideon can’t understand is the _why_.

“Have you found your taste for it yet?” Abel asks after a while.

“Taste for what? Blood?”

“Doesn't sit well on your palette, does it? Like copper on your tongue. Not your flavor.”

Will almost bursts into laughter, before he replies, words dripping with sarcasm, “I apprechiate your concern, but I can handle myself.” _Oh Abel, if only you knew._ He would pay good money to see the look on the man’s face once he realizes just what Will really is.

After several beats of silence, Gideon suddenly asks, “Why are you doing this?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Will’s lips. He speaks silently then, too silent for the security cameras, “I’m curious to see what will happen."

~◊~

Will was brought to his therapy cage once again. He has a feeling who might come to visit him this time. Hopefully that feeling is right. He squeezes his eyes shut, wrapping his hands around the bars. He imagines antlers growing out of his skull, standing tall and proud just like the wendigo’s, like Hannibal’s. What a pair they would make, wreaking havoc upon Baltimore like the monsters they are. It would be _glorious_.

His eyes are still squeezed shut when he hears footsteps approaching, so familiar and dearly missed that his body instantly relaxes and his eyes open.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter.” It feels good to see the man. Hannibal looks pristine as always, walking with the practiced ease of a cat on the prowl. Will wonders how he could’ve missed that for so long. Then again, Hannibal has missed it about him too.

Hannibal comes to stand right in front of Will’s cage, looking almost bleak. On the outside, that is. But Will knows to look deeper, right into those dark brown eyes with hints of maroon, and how has he never noticed their odd color before? That’s not the point now though, the point is, beneath the mask Hannibal presents to the world, Will can see confusion, hope and a hint of wonder. Hannibal thinks his plan is working, thinks that Will is becoming. He is in for a surprise.

“I feel like I've been watching our friendship on a split screen. The friendship I perceived on one side and the truth on the other,” he says when he finally breaks the silence.

“It’s a terrible feeling, isn't it?” Will can't help but still be a little bitter about the encephalitis ordeal. It’s his _brain_ , dammit!

“You've been lying to me, Will.”

Will scoffs, “Oh have I? I don't have a gauge for reality that works well enough to know if I've been lying or not.”

Hannibal continues, unimpressed, “You understand the reality of Beverly Katz's death. You understand your role in that.”

“What was my role?”

“Beverly died at your behest. You're as angry with yourself as you are with whoever murdered her.”

Will raises an eyebrow, “Actually, I'm not. I'm done being angry.” He shakes his head, “I told Beverly to report back and not get too close, but she wouldn’t listen. I was mad at her killer and her and myself, but I’ve had a lot of time to think in here. Being angry doesn’t get me anywhere.”

There’s a moment of silence as tense as a bow pulled taut.

It snaps when Hannibal speaks again, “You tried to kill me, Will. It’s hard not to take that personally. However, if I were Beverly's murderer, I'd applaud your effort.”

Will smiles slyly, “I'm no more guilty of what I’ve been accused of than you are of what you’ve been accused of.”

“Jack told me of your apology. He says you changed your mind about me. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced though. I have to admit, neither am I. I didn't expect you to feel self-loathing or regret or shame after what you did. You knew what you were doing and you made your own decisions. Decisions that were under your control.”

“You think I'm in control?”

“I think you're more in control now than you've ever been.”

Will gives him a smile, “Maybe you’re right. But I’m not above admitting a mistake on my part. I thought about this a lot, believe me. I stand by my new assertion. You are not the Chesapeake Ripper. You’re as innocent as I am. I will make Jack see it, don’t worry. But I’m less concerned about Jack than I am about you and I.” He pauses and looks at Hannibal with the sweetest, hopeful smile he can muster and says, “I wasn’t in my right mind when I said the things I said. Can you forgive my mistake? I would hate to see our friendship crumble beneath its weight.”

He makes eye contact and lets the veil slip for only the fraction of a second, lets Hannibal see a glimpse of what lurks beneath. It’s a tease, a promise of a future partnership. It shows effect, Hannibal’s eyes glimmer with hope and awe for the fraction of a second. He thinks Will wants to be guided by him. Wants to become.

“You say you didn’t send Matthew Brown.” A pause, “I believe you. You proclaim to have changed your mind about me. I feel that to be genuine. I don’t want to lose you as much as you don’t want to lose me. So, my answer is yes, I think I can forgive you.”

Will lets out a breath he hadn’t fully realized he’d been holding. He gives a nod, then says, “Give Alana Bloom my best.” It’s a warning and they both know it. A strange mix of, _if you hurt her I will hurt you_ and _if you let her touch you she’ll regret it_. Hannibal knows a claim when he sees one and this one is thinly veiled. It’s a display of jealousy above everything else and Hannibal seems delighted about this development. Will wants Hannibal for himself. Talk about fostering codependency… Hannibal will comply though, for Will’s sake — Will knows Hannibal never particularly desired Alana anyway and their connection seems more important to him. He appears curious to see where this new road will lead him.

“Good-bye, Will.” He says and turns to leave, a smile snaking onto his lips.

“See you soon, Hannibal.”

~◊~

Turns out everything is working out for Will Graham just fine. He is given back his civilian clothes and personal belongings. He is glad to not be wearing a prison jumpsuit anymore. It feels liberating in its own right, even though he is technically still behind bars.

When Chilton approaches him, he schools his features into something neutral, “This is very sudden.” It really isn’t.

“The federal prosecutor has dropped all charges. Since you weren't convicted of killing anyone, the basis for your sentencing to this institution is null and void. The Chesapeake Ripper has set you free.” As he knew he would. It’s all gonna be just fine.

“You're my psychiatrist, you could have kept me here if you wanted.”

“I'd love nothing more, but I don’t want to be in the line of fire when the Ripper plans to claim his prize.”

Will suppresses a chuckle, “And wouldn’t that be loads of fun.”

Dr. Chilton waves his cane at one of the many CCTV cameras, signaling his employees to open the cell door. Will steps out carefully, measured.

“You may have been exonerated, but the Ripper has yet to be incriminated. Which means, there's a cannibal on the loose. I have no intention of ending up on his menu.”

“Keeping you alive is not in my power, Frederick.”

“So you’ll just wait for the Ripper to kill me?” Chilton almost sounds indignant.

“He already got Gideon, remember? You’re next. There’s nothing I can do for you.” He shrugs and stretches, finally free of all constraints, “Only chance you’ve got is to stay away as far as humanly possible.”

Upon Chilton’s command, the gate buzzes and opens. As Will steps through, Chilton calls after him, “Why didn’t the Ripper just kill you?”

Will smiles a secret smile, too small for Chilton to see, but it’s there as he says, “Because he wants to be my friend.”

 

Finally outside, Will takes a moment to appreciate the sun shining into his face, warming his skin, the blue of the sky, the song of the birds and the wind in his hair. What he doesn’t appreciate is Jack waiting for him near the base of the stairs.

“You need a ride?” He asks.

“I was going to call a cab.”

“We found Miriam Lass. Alive.”

“You catch the Ripper?"

Jack just shakes his head. Good. Will would’ve been surprised if they had.

Jack tells him of his little endeavor of getting the food at Hannibal’s dinner party tested just to get negative results, and honestly Will wouldn’t expect anything less from his dear friend. Jack also tells him about how Miriam stated definitely that Hannibal is not the Chesapeake Ripper. Things are just getting better and better.

Will lets himself be driven to the barn where Miriam was found, reading the file throughout the length of the drive. Will can think of about three dozen things he’d rather do with his newly won freedom but he doesn’t voice that. When he gets out of the car, some of the agents stare at him. He can’t help but wonder how much they would stare if they knew about the things he’d done in the past years. Their looks would certainly be drenched in more fear, rather than morbid curiosity for the falsely convicted weirdo.

He surveys the scene with as much attention as he does any other, letting Jack tell him what he knows and then Will lets the pendulum swing.

He can see the man woven into a tree — it was grown here, no doubt about it — clearly in his mind’s eye. It’s a thing of beauty, so unlike any other tableau he’s ever seen before. He makes a mental note to ask Hannibal about it some time. They could set something up together at some point.

He assumes Hannibal’s point of view fully now. _I sowed the seeds and watched them grow. I cultivated a long chain of events leading to this. This, all of this, has been my design._

Will opens his eyes, glances down at the cistern in front of his feet and imagines Miriam Lass at the bottom of it, looking up at him. He unceremoniously closes the lid and tells Jack what he wants to hear. Just a little bit of truth, not enough to draw anything concrete but enough for Jack to let Will off the hook for the day. Now he’s finally free. _Really_ free.

His hands are itching for a kill, for the feeling of blood on his fingers, running down in thick tendons, soaking through his clothes. He can’t wait to see Hannibal again.


	2. Ballerina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm terrible and this is taking forever, but finally there is a second chapter after the crazy weekend with a maths exam and Red Dragon 5. Don't say I didn't warn you about me being inconsistent with the uploading times.  
> I hope this somewhat makes up for the long wait, it certainly earned some of the tags now...

It’s dark outside when Hannibal comes home and steps into his kitchen towards the refrigerator without turning the lights on, but something makes him stop in his tracks. He lifts his nose to the air, sniffs once, twice.

“Good evening, Will.” He opens the refrigerator door, fully aware of Will Graham standing right behind him, carrying the faint smell of gunpowder. Will is probably pointing his gun at Hannibal’s head right now, he muses. Hannibal wonders if Will has embraced his nature enough already to actually pull the trigger. “I see you’ve been released from your incarceration.”

“Our last kitchen conversation was interrupted by Jack Crawford. I'd like to pick up where we left off. If memory serves, you were asking me if it'd feel good to kill you.” Will’s voice doesn’t waver, there’s not even a hint of nervousness there. Interesting.

“You've given that some thought.” A feeling of surprise strikes Hannibal as he turns and finds Will standing in front of him with his gun safely holstered. Somehow that doesn’t make Hannibal feel any less in danger.

“You wanted me to embrace my nature, doctor. Just following the urges I kept down for so long, cultivating them as the inspirations they are.” Will almost sounds sarcastic and Hannibal is left wondering what that might mean.

“You never answered my question. How would killing me make you feel?”

“Oh doctor,” Will drawls, “I’m not here to kill you.” He wanders further into the kitchen and leans back against the counter.

“Then why are you here?”

Will looks almost casual as he shrugs, “I wanted to see you. Jack is starting to believe me that you’re innocent. I thought you might care to know that.”

Hannibal musters him for a moment, trying to see what Will is playing at, “You don’t actually think I’m innocent.” It’s a statement, an assertion. The truth. “Then why tell Jack that I am?”

Will chuckles lowly, “You know, I said you’re as innocent as me. I’m not innocent, Hannibal. Not by a long shot.”

Hannibal fails to decipher the underlying message of that statement though he can undoubtedly see that the Will Graham in front of him is very close to the potential Hannibal had seen within him. And he seems willing enough to fulfill that potential.

“May I ask what made you rethink your approach to the changes in our relationship?”

Will doesn't respond, he merely smiles and slowly steps backwards into the shadows of the unlit kitchen, disappearing from Hannibal’s sight.

Hannibal is left alone in his dark kitchen, staring at the space where Will stood and wondering where this might be going.

~◊~

When Will finally arrives home, his dogs greet him in a flurry of movement, fur and licking. Only Winston sits quietly and waits for the others to calm down before he trots over and noses Will’s hand before giving it a small lick.

“Hey Winston, I missed you too,” Will tells him, scratching behind his ears.

Alana had taken them in during his incarceration and must’ve brought them back immediately upon hearing of his release. They all look well fed and taken care of, so the first thing he does is taking a long, hot shower. Then he goes into the kitchen to inspect his fridge which turns out to be more or less empty. No surprise there, to be honest. He was gone for a long while after all. But it’s already too late in the day to get groceries and he really doesn’t feel like getting food from a 24 hour gas station. He checks his freezer and miraculously finds some creamy mushroom sauce that Hannibal had left him there after one of his visits to feed the dogs. The FBI must’ve left it there when they’d searched the place. He doesn’t know why and he doesn’t really care because it’s food and he’s hungry. A thought crosses Will’s mind and he puts the sauce out of the freezer to let it defrost.

He stretches his muscles for a moment, thinking about his plans for tonight. It’s been so long since he got to feel warm blood on his hands, feel the way a knife slides through flesh like the fin of a shark cuts through water. The last time he got to experience that was _months_ ago. Before the encephalitis had taken its toll on him. Shooting Hobbs had been welcome but not enough. Not his usual method. He prefers knives or his bare hands over a gun, it’s so much more intimate that way. Oh god, it’s been _way_ too long… It’s probably a dumb idea to do this now, right after being released from the BSHCI, but he feels agitated, on edge. He has months of bottled-up frustration burning under his skin and he needs to let it out.

He redresses into some clean clothes that no one knows he owns, puts some latex gloves into his pockets together with his lockpick and covers his shoe profile with duct tape. Then he packs a disposable plastic bag with some clean clothes. As he leaves the house, he puts on a hat that he only wears for occasions like this, to avoid having his hair yanked out.

He already has a killer in mind to whom this should be attributed. He hasn’t decided on a display yet though. As an afterthought, he puts some strong wire into the bag in the trunk, just in case something rather complicated comes to mind while he’s at it… Then he changes the license plates of his car, gets inside and drives.

Getting to his destination takes him a while, but it’s a small price to pay in order to keep the FBI off his back. Tonight’s target is a woman in her forties, no children, her husband works the nightshift this week, so she’s alone at home. It’s a quiet neighborhood, so he’ll have to be careful not to let her scream. The house is easy enough to enter and Will knows there is no alarm and also no pets; considering her track record with animals, Will is glad for it. She won’t be a danger to animals from now on anyway.

He parks under the broken street light a few streets away and gets out. He takes the bag with the wire and the clean clothes and makes his way to the back of the house as soundless as a prowling cat. After setting the bag down by the back entrance, he pulls on two pairs of gloves — just in case one rips, he can’t be careful enough — and picks the lock.

The door swings open without a sound and he sneaks into the dark room. The only light in the house is on in the first floor, where the bedroom is located. She’s probably reading. On his way to the stairs, he finds the kitchen and takes the big cooking knife from the wooden block. A good knife, he decides, it lies nicely in his hand, it will serve him well tonight. He climbs the stairs quickly and hears the tv running on the other side of the bedroom door. Not reading, then. Upon closer listening, he notices soft snoring. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile.

Slowly he pushes down the door handle and nudges the door open. There she lies, sprawled out on the bed in sweatpants and an ugly top. He’s gonna transform her into something beautiful. He slips into the room and comes to stand right by the bed. His grip on the knife tightens and… then he pounces. In one swift movement he is on the bed, straddling her, his free hand covering her mouth as her eyes blow wide upon waking. Will traces her rapidly pulsing carotid with the knife as he sees the initial shock and confusion in her eyes melt away into panic and recognition. Recognition of what is going to happen to her. A tear slips from the corner of her eye and Will’s face splits into a feral, deeply sickening grin. No, he is most definitely not sane, not by any standards, but well, _in_ sanity is just so much more _fun_.

With the look she’s giving him he is sure she would beg if he lifted his hand, but he can’t risk her waking the neighbors with a scream, so he leaves his hand firmly where it is, making a soft shushing sound one would make to calm a scared child. Then he sets the blade of the knife against her throat.

It’s over in one quick slice and she’s gurgling, choking on her own blood as it flows in gushes from the large wound all over Will’s hands and the white sheets beneath them both. His hands are perfectly steady and his heartbeat calm. He breathes deep, taking in the coppery scent and as he licks his lips he can taste the arterial spray that made its way into his face. He sighs and lets his eyes slip closed for a moment. It really has been too long.

After a minute or two of reveling in the rush of power from his kill, he gets up off the bed and looks around. Some of the arterial spray has landed on a photo. It’s about twenty years old and shows his victim dancing ballet. And suddenly inspiration strikes.

He strips the body down to her underwear and turns her on her stomach. Then he proceeds to cut the loin neatly from her lower back and puts it into the ziplock bag he brought with him. It’s gonna go great with Hannibal’s mushroom sauce. He hasn’t consciously eaten human meat before, but Hannibal has served it to him without his knowledge and he hadn’t had a single complaint about taste. Besides, he is getting hungry and it’s as good as any other meat, so why the hell not.

With the bag set aside, he gets to work, expertly removing her heart — it’s not like he hasn’t done this before —and wrapping her body into the white, blood splattered sheets to resemble a dress. Then he throws her over his shoulder and takes her downstairs, where he puts her down in the hall right by the front door, where the biggest and most stable looking chandelier resides. He leaves the heart there too while he goes to the back entrance to exchange the plastic bag containing the loin for the wire and returns to his soon-to-be masterpiece.

Will looks at the sheet clad body and the chandelier for a moment, envisioning the picture he has in mind. He has work to do.

It takes him almost two hours to get the pose right and he has to dislocate her left leg but the result is more than worth it. He’d set out to reconstruct Andrew Atroshenko’s painting of the ballerina and he feels pride for how well it turned out. She’s dangling off the chandelier on multiple wires, only the toes of her right foot touching the ground. Her left foot is stretched out high aloft behind her back, the bloody dress falling elegantly around her legs. Her right arm is stretched backwards, while her left arm is held high above her head, the hand bent just so that Will can delicately place her heart atop it. Then he steps back to admire his handiwork for a short moment before grabbing the rest of his wire and heading out back, locking the door behind him and taking the meat with him to a big dumpster, behind which he finally puts off the gloves and changes into the clean clothing. He stuffs the bloody clothing into the plastic bag together with the gloves in order to keep his car seat clean, heads for the car and drives home. The gloves, the duct tape on his shoes and his bloody clothing land in the fireplace and warm up the room while he takes another shower.

The dogs are already asleep as he makes himself dinner with a slight smile on his face. Meat strips in a creamy mushroom sauce. It tastes slightly bitter, yet it’s the best thing he’s eaten since his last meal with Hannibal. He might be getting a taste for this.

~◊~

When he wakes in the morning it is to twenty-six calls from Jack. But Will doesn’t care, he feels well rested for once and he won’t let anyone ruin his good mood, not after such a great kill and wonderful meal last night. He idly thinks about having dinner with Hannibal again soon, but the sound of his phone vibrating aggressively on his nightstand rips him out of that train of thought.

With a sigh he picks up, “Hello, Jack.”

“Jesus, Will, where _were_ you?!”

Will frowns at the tone and deadpans, “Why, do I need an alibi?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line that tells Will just how hard that blow hit.

“No, of course not,” Jack says and Will grins because he technically does need an alibi but who cares, right? “We’ve got a crime scene, I think it’s the Ripper. I know you only just got… home and I’m pulling you in for the second time already, but we need you here.”

So they found his display already, as was to be expected. Looks like it’s gonna be a great day.

“Geez Jack, you almost sound worried…” He sighs heavily and adds in a purposely meeker tone, “I just happened to get a good night’s sleep for once, you know? In my own bed and all.” He pauses to let that information sink in, then, “Send me the address, I’ll come around as fast as I can.”

“Good. You might care to know that I also called Dr. Lecter, he’ll be here soon.”

Will nods, more to himself than to Jack, because well, Jack can’t see him, “See you there.”

He dresses quickly and gets on his way, arriving sooner at the crime scene than would probably be expected, but then again he’s been here before and yeah, he might’ve gone a bit too fast in some places but it’s not like he could ever arrive at a scene too early for Jack. Perhaps he should’ve stuck to the speed limits anyway to avoid suspicion, but he’s about to meet the Chesapeake Ripper at a murder tableau Will himself set up for him. He’s excited, sue him.

When he gets out of the car and walks over to the house that is swarmed by policemen, forensics team and FBI agents, a few of them just stop for a moment and stare. Will stares back. Until he catches himself and averts his eyes. There are cracks in his mask that need repairing. His eyes search for Hannibal in the crowd, but he doesn’t spot him. With someone who can see his true self it would be easier to hide from the rest of the world.

Stepping into the house he sees his creation from last night again, as beautiful as he left her. Price and Zeller seem to be in the process of puzzling out how to get her down there but for now she’s still hanging on the wires, floating in stasis with her heart in her hand.

“Good to see you, Will,” Jack greets him, but he barely reacts, only acknowledges his presence with a nod.

“She was killed in the bedroom with one of her own kitchen knives by one single cut along her throat, then arranged here. He had to dislocate her left leg to get her into that pose,” Zeller tells him.

“The heart was removed neatly and there’s also a strip of her lower back muscles missing,” Price goes on, “No fingerprints or usable DNA found so far.”

“The neighbors didn’t see or hear anything unusual either, her husband found her like this when he came home from the night shift this morning,” Jack informs him further.

“Alright,” Will says, “Give me a moment.”

Jack nods and signals everyone else to leave. Will takes off his glasses and closes his eyes, breathes once, twice. He doesn’t need to let the pendulum swing, he knows perfectly well what happened here, knows the psyche of the killer better than anyone, because he lives in it every day of his life. He walks upstairs and remembers how he held her down on the bed, how she whimpered when he pressed the knife down on her throat, how the life left her eyes and blood spilled warm and fresh over his hands. He can feel himself smile and is grateful to be alone while he does this, because of course he could reign it in and hide but it’s so much more pleasurable when he can allow himself to indulge a little.

When he walks back down and surveys his display anew, he can almost feel the wire in his hands, trying to break the skin of his palms but not quite succeeding; there’s a residual ache in his palms but the little damage the wire has done is luckily not visible. He can feel the weight of her heart in his hand as he placed it in her palm.

“This is _my_ design,” he whispers into the empty room, chest filled with pride and the yearning fulfilled for the time being.

The main entrance behind him opens again and he hears two people enter the room.

Will lets out a breath when a familiar accent speaks up to his left, “She is dancing her heart out, quite literally.”

“Yes,” Will says, “But there’s more to it.” He steps closer to his work, strolls around it. “It’s a painting.”

Hannibal hums, “Andrew Atroshenko’s ballerina. The pose is impeccable. I recognized it the moment I walked through this door.”

“It must’ve taken hours to set her up like that, so he knew her husband wouldn’t be home anytime soon.”

“So you’re saying he stalked her beforehand? Maybe someone noticed him, there might be security footage of him at her workplace, we could-” Jack started but was cut off by Hannibal.

“Unlikely, Jack. The slice on her throat is deep and sure, no sign of unsteadiness in his hands. The same goes for the way he removed her heart. He’s practiced, this is by far not his first kill. It’s unlikely he would’ve been careless enough to be caught on camera.”

Will inwardly preens at the praise. Even though Hannibal technically doesn’t know he’s praising him…

One of the forensics guys walks up to Jack and tells him something that makes a frown appear on his face. When the young man leaves again, Jack says, “They searched the house and the garden for the source of that wire but there’s nothing.”

Will nods, pretending to be in thought, “He brought it with him.”

“So he already knew what he was gonna do to her when he came here.”

“No, he didn’t. I saw a photo of the victim in the bedroom where she’s dancing ballet. I think the killer saw it when he cut her throat and only then decided how to arrange her.”

“So what did he bring the wire for then?”

“Precaution,” Hannibal throws in, “He didn’t know what to do with her when he came here, but he knew inspiration would strike eventually and just in case that inspiration demanded something rather complicated, he brought the wire. He is intelligent and thinks in advance but also acts on instinct depending on the situation.”

Will nods his agreement, suppressing a smile at Hannibal’s words, spoken with a hint of fascination that to anyone else would only sound like professional curiosity.

Jack looks back and forth between them, obviously impatient, “So, is it the Ripper then?”

“This killer is a highly intelligent predator who considers himself an artist-” Hannibal starts but before he can continue he is cut off by Will who just put his glasses back on.

“It’s him. This crime scene fits the profile of the Ripper perfectly.” He steals a glance at Hannibal and their eyes lock for a split second, enough for Will to see confusion and intrigue that no one else would be able to identify behind Hannibal’s perfect mask. On some level, Will finds himself relieved that Hannibal doesn’t seem to take offense at having been copied.

He can feel Hannibal’s eyes on him when he leaves for his car and smirks to himself as he drives off.

~◊~

It’s quiet in Hannibal’s office, except for the sound of a pencil moving over paper. As he sketches, he considers the crime scene of the ballerina. Truly a magnificent work, though he does not understand why Will was so eager to pin it on him. His mongoose has become harder to read since his release from incarceration, but Hannibal is sure that Will is planning something. Just what that might be, is the question that’s nagging at the back of his mind all day now. He doesn’t really pay attention to what it is he sketches — it’s merely an activity to occupy his hands while he thinks the recent events over — that is, until he realizes he is in fact sketching Will. The quiet of his office is suddenly penetrated by a knock on the door. He doesn’t have anymore patients today, except… There is really only one person who could be knocking precisely at this hour. Hannibal rises from his desk to open the door, revealing Will on the other side, who is wearing the long coat that makes him look rather stunning.

“Hello, Will.”

“May I come in?”

Hannibal steps aside to let Will into the room, closing the door behind him. Will sheds his coat and hangs it, looking around the office fondly, as though he missed it dearly during his time in the BSHCI. Hannibal certainly missed having him here.

“Are you expecting someone?” Will is still looking around, scanning the room for things that might’ve changed since his last visit.

“Only you.”

“Kept my standing appointment open,” Will notes with something like a smile in his eyes.

“And you’re right on time.” Hannibal indicates for him to take a seat and Will doesn’t hesitate to sink into his usual leather chair, waiting for Hannibal to occupy the one across from him.

“Tell me, Will, what brought you here today,” Hannibal prompts, leaning back and crossing his legs.

Will puts off his glasses and places them in his pocket, leaving no barrier between them, just how Hannibal likes it. They both know he only needs those for driving anyway.

“I already told you I want to pick up our friendship again and after everything that happened I figured it might be a good idea to start by resuming my conversations with you.”

Hannibal is silent for a moment.

Will keeps his posture relaxed and open, not shying away from eye contact as he says, “I mean you no harm, Hannibal. I just want to fix things between us.” Hannibal searches Will’s face for any and all signs of a lie but he finds none. Understanding dawns on him that in this precise moment, there is only sincerity between them; for some reason, Will really wants to make peace with him. But as quickly as it came, the understanding gives way to curiosity about Will’s motivations. What is his beautiful empath up to?

Hannibal nods, “Very well. Is there something specific you want to talk about today?”

Will shrugs, “Not really.”

Hannibal watches him for a moment and tilts his head, “Why did you tell Jack it was the Ripper?”

Will’s wandering gaze zones in on him and Hannibal continues, “I’ve seen the crime scene as well, according to my assessment, it was not a Ripper murder and I believe you are well aware of that fact, so why tell Jack otherwise?”

This time when Will shrugs, it’s not at all convincing, “Maybe I’m tired of being Jack’s hand-puppet. I just told him what he wanted to hear to get it over with.”

Hannibal narrows his eyes ever so slightly, “You would let a murderer slip away just to get Jack off your back? As much as I have advised you to step away from Uncle Jack's careless grip, this change of heart seems quite sudden.”

The corner of Will’s mouth ticks upwards ever so slightly and there’s a glint in his eyes Hannibal can’t place, “I’ve changed. Besides, you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am,” Hannibal says.

Will gives a half smile, “Let’s keep it that way.”

The implication is clear. Will knows with absolute certainty who Hannibal is and he doesn’t intend to do a single damn thing about it.

Hannibal is still studying Will closely. Surprisingly enough, there is still eye contact maintained between them, but Will doesn’t show any indicator of anxiety. On the contrary, he presents as the perfect picture of calmness. He isn’t buying Will’s reasoning for his lie to Jack for a single second, there is clearly something the empath is hiding, but his apologies and attempts to rebuild trust between them appear entirely earnest. Which is another puzzle that needs solving, but Hannibal has a feeling he will find out soon enough what Will is keeping from him and why he seems so intent to be friends with the Chesapeake Ripper all of a sudden. What could’ve tipped the scales of Will’s morals so much more abruptly than Hannibal had predicted? Aside from that, there is also the question who this new copycat of his might be. Part of him suspects, even hopes, that it could’ve been Will, but he cannot be entirely sure as he doesn’t know how far Will’s metamorphosis has progressed already.

Hannibal shifts in his seat, “I feel like I’m watching you through a mirror in my own mind, as you’re standing right behind me. I can see you, but not the real you. It’s only a reflection, just as old as the time it takes the light to travel to the mirror and to my eyes. A picture of the past, if you will, even if very recent.”

Will chuckles lightly, leaning forward, “Well, let’s see how long it’ll take you to smash the mirror and turn around to look at the real me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any of you were wondering, the painting Will "reproduced" can be found [here](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/20/43/a5/2043a5b90a1e484931e1464282106789.jpg). You can also easily find it by just googling. Just for those who don't know it and would like to get a clearer idea of the pose I'm describing.
> 
> I hoped you liked this chapter, please stay tuned for the next one! (however long it may take lol)


	3. Chrysalis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took approximately FOREVER but here it is, fuckin finally. First I was caught up in lab work for university, then I had not written for so long that it took me a while to find back into it... but I suppose you wanna read the chapter rather than me rambling, so here we go. I hope it makes up for the long wait.
> 
> EDIT: so I was really fucking unhappy with this chapter, so much so that it caused a massive writer's block, which is why I had to fix it before I could continue with chapter 4. I apologize profusely for this but I am much happier with this chapter now and I hope so are you

Will is back at Hannibal’s house, sitting at his dining table. With Jack. They sit opposite each other, waiting for Hannibal to serve the fish Will caught just this morning. He would prefer to be alone with Hannibal, without Jack’s irritating presence, but he pushes the annoyance down, focuses instead on the impeccably dressed man carrying the dish and putting it down in front of them.

“Truite saumonée au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side.” Hannibal turns to Will. “Beautiful fish, Will.”

He tries not to preen, but is only half successful. “It was my turn to provide the meat.”

Hannibal looks amused.

“More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzsche-ian fish. Trials of his wild existence find their way into the flavor of the flesh.”

Hannibal serves food onto each of their plates, then he continues, “I hope ‘providing the meat’ doesn't mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table.”

Will suppresses a smile as Hannibal sits. “No doubts, Dr. Lecter.” No, definitely none at all, and no issues about it either. Hannibal lightly raises a brow and they share a short moment of eye contact, understanding flowing between them, understanding about the real meaning behind Will’s words and what that might mean for their relationship.

“Only the wounds we dealt each other before we got to the truth,” Jack adds and Will once more has to tamper down his annoyance about his presence.

“Which is why we need not dwell on past mistakes,” Hannibal says.

Jack throws a glance at Will and nods at this. Will looks down at his plate to keep from rolling his eyes. Why did Hannibal have to invite Jack as well? While his guilt and desire to amend will be, no doubt, useful to Will, his presence here is more than unwelcome on Will’s part. He’d rather have Hannibal to himself, without masks, only the two of them. Jack’s presence in this rather intimate setting agitates Will; it feels like a thorn under his skin, not deep enough to hurt, but itchy, annoying, something he needs to get _out_.

“Every single experience changes us, molds us into who we are,” he goes on, “We are all Nietzsche-ian fish in that regard.”

Will smirks, “Makes us tastier.”

Hannibal considers Will with an amused spark to his eyes and almost something like pride. They share a tentative, private smile and Will idly wonders what it will feel like once Hannibal truly sees him.

“Nothing we did was personal,” Jack says, interrupting their moment and Will starts to ask himself just how annoyed he can get at the man’s presence. He grips his pants under the table in an effort to keep his control, lest he take rather drastic measures to get rid of Jack right there. But he needs to keep the facade upright for both his and Hannibal’s sake, so he scrapes together every ounce of self-control in his body, a frustrating amount of control he doesn’t want to have to expend right now. Not here with Hannibal.

“I wanted Hannibal dead. Most people would consider that pretty personal.”

“You thought I was a killer. But these things lie in the past now. We should rather live in the present, without forgetting what we've shared and suffered. It would be a great loss if we were to walk away from each other. We're the only ones who will know what this feels like.”

Will looks at Hannibal then, taking in the effortless control in his demeanor, the grace of his every movement, the amusement dancing in those eyes. In that moment, the glance that they shared, pointed and charged, he knows that Hannibal will be able to see him as Jack cannot. As no one can.

If only Jack wasn’t here, if only they were alone. The temptation to just slit the man’s throat makes his fingers twitch.

Will forcibly calms his thoughts and, holding Hannibal’s gaze with his own, he starts eating.

“This fish is delicious.”

~◊~

It’s cold, sprinkles of snow lying here and there on the forest ground, leafless trees seaming their path like warriors standing guard. Alana shivers slightly beside him, but Hannibal makes no move to close the distance between them. He knows she wants it, but while Will was in prison he’d spoken an unmistakable warning, a claim. The first inklings of possessive behavior from his beautiful boy.

Alana sighs and says, “What are you doing, Hannibal?”

“Recovering.” It was her idea to go for a walk. Hannibal would rather it be Will by his side.

“Too much has happened… we need to talk about this.” She keeps pressing. Poor curious Alana, it may well be her downfall one day.

“I am recovering. From all that has happened. So is Will.” Now he finally turns to look at her. “I would change many things about the past months, but not that they brought Will back to me.”

She raises her gaze from the frozen ground beneath their feet to look at Hannibal. “There certainly aren’t many things stranger than finding a woman inside a horse. However, I find seeing Will Graham trying to repair his relationship with you is one of the few.”

Ah yes, the current case. Will and Jack are off investigating at the moment, it is only a matter of time until Will finds the culprit, Hannibal is sure.

He hums. “Does it really feel so strange to you?” It doesn’t feel strange at all to him. It just feels right. Inevitable. Like a promise long given but never spoken. How blind she must be not to see that he and Will belong together in every capacity. Though, he muses, it’s probably better for her to remain unseeing, lest she catch a glimpse of something she isn’t meant to witness.

“He tried to murder you.”

He traces the scars on his wrists. How far Will has come in such a short period of time. It’s like he always waited for Hannibal to come into his life and break him out of the golden cage that is his morality.

He has to suppress a smile as he says, “Circumstances have changed. So has Will.”

Alana looks thoughtful, like something is bothering her about the situation. "I’m not convinced Will thinks you’re innocent.”

Smart girl. “Why would he lie?” Why would he indeed. It’s a question Hannibal keeps asking himself, but all the answers he comes up with leave something to be desired.

She looks so small in that moment, so lost, like a little dove that flew right into a hurricane. “I don’t know, I just… It feels like he’s hiding something. Like he discovered a truth about himself and is trying to suppress it.”

She’s not far from the truth, Hannibal thinks, his Will has changed quite remarkably since walking free again. Alana doesn’t trust him anymore, is now harboring doubt and suspicion mixed with a dash of jealousy. She has made advances toward him since Will got locked away, but Hannibal continuously blocks her off. Will had been quite clear on that matter and Hannibal would be loathe to disappoint him now that they are tangibly growing closer. Her company could never possibly compete with Will’s anyway, her soft voice and round edges standing in no comparison to Will’s sharp intellect and wit, not to mention his piercing blue eyes and angular jaw. Where Alana is a firefly, Will is the sun, blinding with his radiance and Hannibal can feel himself burning from it.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and focuses on Alana again. “What brought you to this conclusion?”

She considers the question and her eyes find the forest floor again.

A sigh, then, “I'm afraid Will opened a door in himself and no one knows if it closed again. Especially not Will.”

Inwardly Hannibal smiles. The door is standing wide open and he will make sure it stays that way.

“Then it's for the best that he has a good friend to help him.”

~◊~

Will is sitting in Hannibal’s car, staring out of the windshield. They’re driving to check on Peter Bernadone, now that Clark Ingram is free again he might be in danger. Will knew instantly that man is a predator. He recognizes his own kind. Takes one to know one, that’s how the saying goes.

Will resents Ingram. A psychopath, with tons of arrogance but not a lick of style. Peter doesn’t deserve this, not even Will would extinguish a soul that pure. A long time ago Will, too, aspired to keep his light. He fought hard, but the darkness was already there, scratching at the walls he’d built inside himself. Only once he’d torn those walls down did he really feel like himself. He’d let the darkness flood every inch of him, like ink tainting the water, but instead of extinguishing him, it made him radiant. Peter is nothing like that, isn’t a killer, is never supposed to become one. Will wants to make sure it stays like that. Peter deserves to keep his light. He deserves to be protected from Ingram.

He persuaded Hannibal to come with, though there wasn’t all that much persuading to do on his part. It’s dark outside, a few stars glimmering on the black night sky, the moon obscured by a cloud.

Will can feel Hannibal’s eyes on him moments before the man even opens his mouth.

“You look like a man who has suffered an irrevocable loss.”

He doesn’t turn to look at him, but his voice is determined. “I'm trying to prevent one.”

Hannibal seems to consider him for a moment. “Do you think saving Peter Bernardone will help you save yourself?”

Will almost scoffs. “Save myself from who, Dr. Lecter?”

“From who you are becoming.”

So he still hasn’t figured it out yet. Will almost laughs out loud. If only Hannibal could already see that he is far beyond saving.

But he doesn’t, he just keeps talking. It’s both frustrating and endlessly amusing to know that the great Doctor Hannibal Lecter can be so blind to something that’s right in front of his face. “You considered it, haven’t you? You wonder if I could be right about you. About your nature. Many troublesome behaviors strike when we are uncertain of ourselves. Peter Bernardone and you share a place in a similar darkness.”

“I’m not uncertain of myself. And I’m not alone in that darkness, not anymore. You’re standing right beside me, aren’t you?” It comes out with a tint of bitterness. He wouldn’t be alone anymore if Hannibal would just _see_ him.

“Does Peter Bernardone fantasize about killing the way you do?”

This time Will does scoff. “He’s not a killer.” How can a man so intelligent be at the same time so stupid? Peter and Will couldn’t be less similar. It’s pure irony that Hannibal manages to deceive the entire FBI without problem but fails utterly at noticing the hints Will lays out for him. It’s almost comical, really. Maybe he should just play along and wait how long it’ll take for Hannibal to notice what’s going on…

He refocuses on Hannibal when he hears his voice again. “Every human being is capable of behaving like a psychopath under extreme enough circumstances.”

 _Maybe_ , Will thinks absentmindedly, _but not like you and me_.

 

When they reach the animal shelter, it is eerily quiet. No barking or other animal noises to be heard except the distant cries of birds in the trees surrounding the building. The scene feels so wrong that Will almost jumps out of the car, and rushes inside. When he looks around the room, his eyes are met with chaos. The walls of cages are all empty, the once so lively room now eerily quiet. For a moment, Will just stares at the utter devastation. Peter doesn’t deserve this. Will tends to judge people by the way they treat animals, and Peter was always good to them. Clark Ingram however… He deserves his current space on top of Will’s list.

He draws his gun, turns and rushes back outside past Hannibal who had now made it after him. Filled with rage, Will runs across the yard to the large barn, calling out for Peter, but remaining without answer.

Upon entering the barn he finds Peter, kneeling before a dead black horse, a cut on his head and his face streaked with blood, a big pool of it spreading around him from the wound in the animal’s abdomen which he just finishes stitching up. The horse’s belly seems distended, as though there was something put inside that doesn’t belong there… Not many options as to what that might be come to mind. Or rather _who_.

A sneer forms on Will’s face but it smoothes away and he and lowers his gun as he feels Hannibal’s presence by his side.

He cautiously steps closer. “Peter… is your social worker inside that horse?”

Peter just nods. There’s a calm sense of devastation around him as he speaks to Will about what he did, what he _had_ to do.

“He deserves to die.”

“But you didn't deserve to kill him,” Will says, clenching his jaw so tight it almost hurts. He finds himself feeling sadness for Peter and blinding rage for Ingram. His fingers twitch with the desire to wrap around a throat. Peter would’ve deserved to keep his light. He wouldn’t have needed to kill Ingram, Will would’ve happily done that for him.

Will feels a sense of wrongness as he leads Peter out of the building to calm him. This wasn’t meant to happen, not to someone like Peter. Will feels robbed of the opportunity to hurt Ingram.

~◊~

The tang of blood lies thick in the air, metallic and slightly rotten. Hannibal turns away from the dead horse in favor of looking outside at the dark night sky. It’s a beautiful night, he decides, filled with the potential of Will’s promising mind. He looked like he wanted to rip Clark Ingram to pieces earlier. Of course that wouldn’t do as his precious Will’s becoming, but it’s a start.

Idly Hannibal starts to wander. It’s been a long time since he had animals around him other than Will’s dogs. He’d never admit it under a death threat but he’s grown quite fond of them. It seems he’s grown fond of quite a lot of things surrounding Will. Hannibal smiles as he feeds a handful of meal to the animals in the stalls. Yes, he decides, he could get used to living with animals again if that was Will’s wish.

Noticing the sudden intensifying of the smell of blood, he straightens up and turns. In front of him stands Clark Ingram, body and clothes soaked in blood and slime, a gore covered hammer in hand. The horse is torn back open, guts spilling all over the ground of the barn. The smell is frankly disgusting, but nothing Hannibal hasn’t had to deal with before.

It’s almost impressive that the man managed to crawl out of a dead horse’s uterus, if only the sight wasn’t so appalling.

“Mr. Ingram.”

He is standing completely still, obviously surprised by the politeness in Hannibal’s greeting.

“Might want to crawl back in there, if you know what's good for you,” Hannibal continues in the same polite tone. He saw the look of righteous rage on Will’s face before, he can’t wait to see it again. Of course he can’t let Will just kill the man on the spot, that would not be right. Will has to do it for his own sake, not to protect Peter Bernadone. Besides, it would be too easy to track it back to him. And yet Hannibal is intrigued how far his Will would go. He already has displayed an exceptional will to change, to become. Hannibal isn’t sure who killed the ballerina, but with the way Will was all too eager to attribute her to the Ripper, it could well be that he is taking to his dark side far better than expected. That, or there is something more to it which Hannibal isn’t seeing yet. Who knows what the night might still bring.

~◊~

Peter didn’t kill Clark Ingram. He tells Will as much while they’re standing just outside the barn. And that means, Clark Ingram is still alive.

Will struggles to keep himself under control, can’t show his anger now because it would scare Peter. He leaves Peter outside where he is safe — safe of Ingram and also of what Will wants to do — while he makes his way back inside, ready to unchain his inner beast.

Clark Ingram is still alive and he has no right to be. Will blends into the shadows of the barn like they’re a second skin and draws his gun. Stepping into the light, gun raised before him, he spares a glance at Hannibal, who steps to the side, watching him with fascination in his eyes. He still doesn’t _see_.

But Will pushes his frustration about the Chesapeake Ripper aside and instead focuses on Ingram in front of him. The man must see something in Will’s eyes that screams danger, that he can and will use the gun he is holding, because he drops the hammer, holds out his arms and drops to his knees. He even has the audacity to _smile_ at Will. A stupid, faked smile, supposed to make him look like he’s glad to see Will, like he’s about to be rescued from the terrible Peter Bernadone. All this smile does is make Will want to kill him more.

“Officer, I'm the victim here.”

Will’s upper lip twitches. “I'm not an officer. I'm a friend of Peter’s.”

Ingram’s face falls as Will cocks the hammer of the gun. It’s a small change of expression, but it feels immensely satisfying.

“Peter's confused.”

Stilly trying to pile the blame on Peter, how pathetic can a person be?

“I'm not. Pick up the hammer.” _Give me a reason. Please._

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice almost snaps him out of it. What does he want now? Isn’t this exactly what he wants to see? Will ‘giving into his urges’. He should be pleased. Why isn’t he?

“Pick it up.” Will’s voice raises in urgency, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Come on.”

Ingram seems to realize that Will is a predator too, because his face shifts, becomes inscrutable.

Will more _feels_ than sees Hannibal moving closer. “What do you think it would feel like to pull the trigger. What would you gain from killing him?”

Will almost laughs. ”I know what it will feel like. It'll feel good.”

“You did everything you could do for Peter, more than anyone else has done, but don't do this for him. Neither for him, nor for Mr. Ingram's victims or their families and friends who would love to see him dead.” Hannibal steps even closer then. So close than Will can feel his breath ghosting over his skin as he speaks. “If you're going to do this, Will… You have to do it for yourself.”

So that’s it. That’s why Hannibal doesn’t seem pleased by this development. Or rather, not as pleased as Will would have expected. He does want to do it for himself, he wants it so much it hurts.

The first time Will had killed out in the open had been Hobbs, but his fever-laden mind had hardly been able to process it properly. The second time, the ballerina, had been a _revelation_.

Will wants to feel like that again. He wants to feel like that with Hannibal by his side.

He just _wants_.

But Hannibal’s words, his soothing tone of voice, have managed to clear his mind a little from the blinding need, at least enough to help kick-start his brain into considering practicalities over just his desires. It would be stupid to pull the trigger, there’s no preparation, Jack knows how much he despises Ingram, it would be way too easy to trace back to Will. But it would feel so _good_.

”Please don’t,” Ingram begs and Will feels a fresh wave of resentment for the man.

“It would be wise of you to remain silent, Mr. Ingram,” Hannibal says and Will holds back a snort. “This is not the becoming I want for you, Will. Not the one you deserve.”

No it’s not, his becoming was so long ago. But the ballerina almost felt like a second one. He is tired of hiding in the shadows of others, he wants to kill with Hannibal and display their kills for the world to see and fear. It would be ecstatic, he knows.

His finger is so tight on the trigger, it would be so easy to pull it, consequences be damned. Never before has he lost control like this, he feels almost high on the memory of his first display and Hannibal’s presence.

He hardly registers himself pulling the trigger, but it clicks. The hammer falls. But no shot rings through the barn. Hannibal has his finger right between the hammer and firing pin. He must have reflexes like a hunting cat. Suddenly Will is hyperaware of Hannibal’s hand sliding around Will’s, grabbing the gun and pulling it away. Will almost finds himself mourning the loss. Not of the gun, but of the feeling of a warm hand against his own.

Will can’t remember ever being so close to Hannibal physically. It’s comfortable, nice, Will finds himself leaning in a fraction closer. It’s odd, having him so near, usually Will feels uncomfortable with anyone in such a close proximity, but not with Hannibal. Never with Hannibal. There’s a shimmer of devotion shining in the man’s eyes and Will notices that his heartbeat is quicker now than it was when he pulled the trigger on Ingram. He isn’t entirely sure what that means but he’ll have time to think about it later.

The moment is almost broken by Hannibal speaking quietly into Will’s ear. “With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict you. I can feed the caterpillar, whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me.”

Refocusing on Ingram with Hannibal's words murmuring in his ear, all the memories of similar words, about becoming, about evolving, Will realizes he is right. There really was a becoming to be had. Will has changed. He is no longer satisfied killing in the shadows, at least not singularly, he wants to be seen. By Hannibal and the world. He wants to carve art out of bodies with Hannibal and he wants to sit at his dinner table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, this was what you've been waiting for this long... I sure hope it lived up to your expectations (if you had any). Next chapter will have some more action and some more realizations (at least on Will's part for now)
> 
> Now that this chapter is FINALLY fixed I can hopefully get back on track with writing the next chapter, I thank you all so much for your patience

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Courting Habits of Killers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18291479) by [FhimeChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FhimeChan/pseuds/FhimeChan)




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